“And am I not in the garb of peace? My cap has not the nodding plume of war, but the quiet and simple flower of the valley. What two beautiful shields I have secured for myself in danger, my own Katharine, and sister Alice.”
“Beware,” repeated the prophetess, “of war. Change not the flower for the cockade; and let none be your shields but those whom you now protect.”
No longer did she seem the soft and mournful child, who had longed so earnestly for the power of vision. She was altogether changed.
“Follow me not. Detain me not. I shall weep for you all. Farewell, until we meet again,” and she instantly withdrew, and darkness hid her steps.
Two months have elapsed since the above interview and conversation took place, and the scene is now laid in Manchester. No more is the soft peace inspired by evening walks, in lonely and secluded vales, to be breathed over the characters of our Legend. A rebellion, fostered by no dark intrigues, but by romantic daring, had arisen, and the youthful heir of the unfortunate house of Stuart had returned from exile, and appeared to claim his own, in the country which dethroned his ancestors for their imbecility, wickedness, and tyranny. Prince Charles Edward had been educated at the court of France; but unlike her, whom, in person, he was said so much to resemble—Mary of Scotland,—his manners were untainted with the loose and dissolute habits prevalent there. Although surrounded with pleasure, revelry, and giddy pomp, his thoughts were of England and its crown; and these tended to preserve him from the enervating influence of French dissipation. Gallantry was only the occasional amusement, and not the sole pursuit of his life. Nature had given him an exterior on which no lady could frown, or be disposed to deny her favours; but he frequently withdrew from the attractive company, where many of the proudest and fairest daughters of the land were fluttering around him, with attentions for the prince alone; and in private, sighed over the ruin of the name he bore, and of the royal family, of which he was the sole representative. But buoyed up with the false accounts which he had received from those in this country, with whom he communicated, assuring him that so numerous and devoted would be his followers, should he again appear at the head of them, to plead his cause by arms, he was induced to leave France, and towards the end of summer 1745, landed in the Hebrides; in a few days raised his standard in Invernesshire; assembled a number of followers at Fort William, and proceeded to Edinburgh, which opened to his claims. In the beginning of November he marched to Carlisle, where the ceremony of proclaiming his father king, and himself regent, was foolishly performed, and where the delay thus occasioned, seemed to paralyze the courage of his highland troops, and by carousing, to divide them into factions.
Towards the end of the same month his troops, now amounting to six thousand men, entered Lancashire, and passing by way of Preston and Wigan, took up their quarters in Manchester, where they hoped to secure provisions and ammunition, by free levies from the inhabitants, as well as to recruit their numbers by English soldiers.
The twenty-ninth day of November was bright, and a slight breeze had not only prevented the heavy fog peculiar to the season, but had likewise cleared away the smoke which lay dense and dull upon the town; when, early in the afternoon, towards the suburbs, masses of people were drawn together, expecting the arrival of the Pretender and his army. There were the mob, prepared to espouse the cause of any who should tickle their hands with a coin, or by sweet words, gain their sweet voices. But amongst them were many of noble rank, who had sympathized with the hardships of the present aspirant to the throne of his fathers; and whom his romantic expedition had fired with visions of military glory and renown, and high titles and long lists. They impatiently spurred their horses to a short distance from the crowd, to obtain a better view, and then returned disappointed. Fair ladies were leaning on the arms of their lovers, forbidding them to share in the dangers of the enterprize, and in the crime of treason, but resolving, themselves, to get a sight of the handsome Chevalier, and praise his person. A silent hush was over all; nothing was heard, save low and gentle whispers from the fair, who began to doubt whether he would really appear, when the notes of distant music were borne on their ears, and the steady tramp of troops was, soon after, distinguishable. The crowd rushed up to an eminence on the skirts of the highway, and beheld the banner floating over the rebel soldiery, and the gleam of broadswords flashing in the sun. A sergeant rode forth from the ranks, and furiously spurred his steed to the town, when loud shouts, arising from the people and the inhabitants, assuring him of the ready reception which his master should find, induced him, after waving his plumed bonnet in return, to halt, until the troops came up, which they speedily did, and, in haste, advanced. At their head, surrounded by a band of hardy mountaineers with their left hand upon the dirk, rode the prince, with no traces of fatigue on his countenance; and looking as well, after his short sojourn in the Highlands, as ever he did when he was the pride of the French court, where he was fed by its luxuries. He was in conversation with the Duke of Athol, who was beside him.
There was an interesting melancholy upon the otherwise gay expression of his countenance, which suited well with the fallen fortunes of his family. He was of slight and graceful form, and, but for the noble enthusiasm beaming in his full blue eye, and the firmness and decision compressing his thin lips, he might have been mistaken for one who was better qualified to do honour to the gaieties of a court, in the song and the dance, than the bloody field of strife. His dress served to display, to advantage, the beautiful proportions of his frame. His locks, of a light auburn hue, fell in ringlets beneath the blue bonnet, mounted with a white rose in front; and the snowy whiteness of his almost feminine neck was but partially concealed by a plaid passing loosely over his breastplate, and held fast by a blue-coloured sash. His finely-polished limbs moving in all the elastic play and nerve of youth, and in perfect ease, were attired in the Highland kilt; and so small and beautifully formed was his foot, that no lady would have refused her fair hand as a stirrup to the young Chevalier. His dress was indeed plain for one who was now to strive for the crown of Great Britain, but none could gaze upon the kingly form which it enveloped, without almost wishing that soon he might be invested with the purple robe of rule and empire.
His companion, the Duke of Athol, with whom he seemed frequently to converse as a familiar friend, was tall and muscular. Broad and commanding was his forehead, seen occasionally as he raised his bonnet, when the prince mildly gave forth his orders. Long dark whiskers added to the sternness and fierceness of his countenance, and large over-hanging eyebrows only seemed to arch in the fiery keenness of his restless glance, and concentrate it still more deadly.